


Five Ways Miss Parker and Jarod Never Met (And One That Can't Be Proven)

by ChristinaK



Category: The Pretender (TV)
Genre: Allusions to Shakespeare, Although really the subtext is pretty much text, BYO Subtext, F/M, Gen, Kidnapping, Lyle being Lyle offscreen, Warning: The Centre being itself., We're ignoring the TNT movies as too confusing.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 04:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12380715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChristinaK/pseuds/ChristinaK
Summary: Jarod and Miss Parker met when they were children at the Centre.But what if they hadn't? Six first meetings that never happened (as far as we know).





	1. Meet Cute.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to: Perri for editing/betaing; the other Horsechicks, Christine and Sharron for betaing/feedback; and Cheryl for hammering out the initial ideas in 2006. Much appreciated. All mistakes are mine, of course.
> 
> Disclaimer: If they were mine, we'd get two more TNT movies.

The alley where she finally caught up to him after a five-block chase was narrow and dumpster-lined, still wet with the rain from earlier in the day, and blocked by a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. Jarod could have climbed it, but not without losing his pants, his dignity, and the silver DSA case that he'd rather cut off fingers than abandon.

"Drop it, genius. Dead end. Time to go home."

"The Centre's never going to be home." Jarod turned from contemplating the fence to give her a flat stare, then smiled suddenly. His photos didn't do him justice. In person, the dorky haircut and teenager's smile actually worked together. Something about the eyes... watchful. Calculating. They made the rest of him seem like a costume he'd temporarily donned to fool the unwary. "Ah. The celebrated Miss Parker. Isn't this a bit of a comedown from Corporate?"

Her trigger finger itched for a moment, and she glared at the target at the end of her gun barrel. "Keep it up. We can just add more time in an empty cell after your return to Blue Cove." She jerked the gun to the side, directing him toward her. "This way."

"Hmm. No." He folded his arms, and leaned back on the chain-link fence. Did he actually think that was a request? Maybe he was a lot more delusional than Sydney had thought.

"I will shoot you, if you give me a reason," Parker warned him. "And there's a Sweeper team less than two minutes behind me."

"I don't doubt that for a second." Jarod grinned at her, and on anyone else that look would be affectionate. From a total stranger who was more than a little psycho, it made her want to pistol-whip him. "But I wanted the chance to talk with you, former corporate slave to corporate drone, before I made my exit. So they might be a little late."

The hell?

"I can't imagine anything you could say that would possibly have any relevance or interest for me in this situation." Parker tightened her grip on her Sig. Where was Sam? Why wasn't he here yet? "You're an assignment, which is now over. Move. Now."

"You see, this is the difficulty of dealing with the Centre; all stick, no carrot," Jarod drawled, giving her a slow once-over. "Given a choice between being shot, and willingly walking back to the Centre's waiting arms... No matter how great the legs of my escort, I'll take the bullet and smile."

"Are you insane?" It just bubbled out of her without any planning. She'd punched men for less, for getting her this off-balance, never mind the combination of insult and innuendo. "Seriously. Do you know who I am?"

"Like I said: you're Miss Parker. Until four weeks ago, Corporate Liaison to the Tower. Now? Tasked with retrieval of one Pretender, the DSAs in his possession, and any projects completed in the interim," Jarod spat out. He'd definitely read the memo from the Director; Parker had just enough time to wonder how he'd gotten into the mainframe before he went on. "You like your scotch neat, your cigarettes unfiltered, your lingerie from Paris, and your lovers compliant. You're going to be Director of the Centre in five years if you can complete this assignment, and dead in three years if you can't."

She flicked the safety off her gun.

"And you don't take criticism well," Jarod added.

"Shut. Up." With a massive effort, she got her temper under control. "Why aren't Sam and the others here yet?"

He smirked, the sonuvabitch. "A small roadblock, shall we say. They'll be here in another five minutes."

If she shot him now, they could treat him for blood loss in those five minutes. On the other hand, she might have to actually touch him, and then she might kill him. "Fine. We'll just stand here until then. And if you say one more word—"

"Catherine Parker."

Soft voice, caring eyes, slipping in a sword to sever her spine. People would shell out good money to be executed by him. Her hands were shaking. "You're going to pay for that."

Even softer, more urgent, dark eyes focused completely on her. "She didn't commit suicide. I can prove it."

"You _bastard_." She had never loathed anyone in her life the way she loathed this man. Because she wanted to believe. They'd warned her, she'd seen the files, she'd known Jarod could simulate anyone, get inside their heads, but this, this was… Parker swallowed back bile, kept herself out of his reach, when every nerve ending demanded she grab him and beat him to death with her bare hands.

Control. Do not let him get to you. Do not let him make you doubt. "I'm not buying, Frankenstein. Nice try, though."

"It's okay, I'm donating." The smirk was back, and the eyes were measuring the effect his words had had on her. Looking for an opening. A weakness to be exploited. Damn her for almost believing, for 2.5 seconds, that he actually cared.

"Riiiiight." She matched his smirk, rolled her eyes, promising herself a cigarette as soon as she had the cuffs on him. And now she was going to be wondering how he'd found out her tobacco preferences. "Out of the goodness of your lab-rat heart. However did I earn this privilege?"

"You're the hound, Miss Parker. I'm just a hare trying to make it through another day." Jarod's grin had gotten a fraction wider. "Only I'm not going down a rabbit-hole."

Something was wrong here. He was way too confident. Four minutes had ticked by, and she still didn't hear Sam or the others approaching the entrance to the alley. "Why are you stalling?"

Jarod's grin belonged on a fourteen-year-old out skateboarding in the sunshine. "I'm not stalling. I'm waiting."

"For...?"

"My ride."

There was no way a car, or even a motorcycle, could make it down that alley past her. Nowhere to go but--

The sound of helicopter blades tipped her off. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me." How the hell had they known where to find him? Or had he planned to go down this dead-end alley, be picked up right here, the entire time? And which was worse?

Jarod shrugged. "I was serious about your mother, and the information I have. But I can't stick around while you try to make up your mind." A rope ladder was flung down from above, landing just to the left of him, barely ten feet away. "I'll be in touch."

"You aren't going anywhere."

"You can't shoot me," he said, maddeningly calm. "The Centre wants me alive."

The warning shot from her gun echoed in the alley, amplified by the narrow brick walls. "Preferably."

Jarod had ducked when she fired, and now straightened, finally losing the smirk, the calculation, and the goddamn confidence. He looked scared. Desperate, even.

It took everything she had, but she kept her voice level. Calm. Never let it be said she was a bad winner. "It's over, Jarod. Don't make this harder than it has to be."

Two seconds. Three. Both of them expressionless, frozen in place, the whip of helicopter blades stirring the air around them.

Then he lunged for the rope ladder, and Parker rushed forward to intercept him. The helicopter lifted upward smoothly, and he was already ten feet above her by the time she reached his position. "Jarod!"

She aimed upward and fired again, had the satisfaction of hearing him gasp and clutch the ladder closer— but he didn't even drop the damn DSA case, just hung on to the rope ladder with insane determination, looking downward with burning eyes as he rose into the sky.

Parker knelt down on the wet cement of the alley, and dragged two fingers through the red drops that had fallen to the ground.

At least she'd drawn blood too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For as many times as she threatened to, she never did actually shoot him, did she?


	2. Tommy Girl

Jarod lost her on the corner of Broadway and 16th and had to stop to regain his bearings, wondering which of the shops she'd entered. He surveyed the street, then crossed to a newspaper stand and picked out a New York Times to give him cover while he waited for her to come back into view. He was paying for the paper when a voice behind him made him freeze.

"You can buy me a Glamour while you're at it. I just love their articles on how to get the most out of your summer wardrobe."

Jarod turned around and assumed his most puzzled expression for the woman standing there, one hand on a jutting hip, glaring at him. "Excuse me?"

"Why are you following me?" An icy gaze sized him up, lingering on his jacket, checking all the places where weapons could be hidden, then snapped back to focus on his eyes. "Don't even try to lie, Wonderboy. I spotted you at the 27th Street station. You've been exactly a block and a half behind me for ten blocks. Not a cop, not one of Corelli's men—" Her expression locked down, hard. "Do you work for my father?"

"No, I don't work for him." Jarod folded up his paper and shook his head, feeling startled and off-guard. He'd planned how to approach her, but that was supposed to be later, when he had the evidence and photographs at hand. This was just supposed to be reconnaissance, to get a feel for what she was like. And definitely not for getting caught like some stalker or Sweeper. Time to improvise, then. "My name is Jarod Spenser. I'm a private investigator working on the Valerie Mancini case. I'm sorry if I frightened you, Ms. Gates—"

"You didn't."

"—but I wanted to talk to you about evidence that has been misplaced in Miss Mancini's defense. And I wasn't sure how to talk to you without your colleagues finding out." Jarod finally got all that out, and took a breath. Her eyes had narrowed a minute amount when he'd said his name and occupation, but otherwise, Miranda Gates' face had remained studiously blank. He could see how she'd acquired her reputation as a trial lawyer. That stare demanded explanations, doubted everything, and was dissatisfied with the way he was breathing, much less his reasons for following her.

A tiny frown line appeared between her brows as she processed what he'd said. "What kind of evidence? And are you implying what I think you're implying?" He drew breath to further explain, and she raised a hand to stop him. "I need coffee for this. You're buying."

"I am?"

She'd already gotten a grip on his elbow and was steering him into the Starbucks across the street. "My time, your dime. In caffeine. And if this is some ploy to screw up the case or get me disbarred, I'll have your P.I. license, your driver's license, and your gun license suspended in a heartbeat. Got it?"

"I don't usually carry a gun—" That glare only wanted one response. "Got it."

"Venti espresso extra whipped cream, chocolate shavings," she said, pushing open the door and pointing at the counter. "And a muffin."

"Yes, ma'am." Juries must have found her terrifying. Jarod was finding himself unwillingly intrigued.

When he returned with their drinks, he handed one over to her, along with a chocolate-chip muffin, then took a sip of his own coffee. "Someone within your department has hidden exculpatory evidence that would result in the dropping of the charges against Valerie Mancini. By process of elimination, I know it wasn't you. I'd like your help in finding the evidence and catching the person responsible."

"This isn't an espresso." She frowned at her cup, ignoring his explanation. "This is cocoa. They switched the orders."

"No, they didn't." Jarod took another sip of his drink. "Espresso is bad for your ulcer."

You'd think he'd killed her cat. "Excuse me?"

"Ms. Gates, I've done a little research on you. Your visit to the hospital last spring isn't exactly a secret; you collapsed in the middle of jury selection." Jarod fielded the extra venom in her glare with, "I wanted to know who I was dealing with. And if you'd be willing to take this problem all the way to its proper conclusion."

"Mr. Spenser, if you'd done enough research on me, you'd know I hate being told what to do, or people making decisions for me, and definitely people spying on me." She slammed the cup back down in front of him, then stormed over to the counter, ordering a venti espresso with whipped cream and sprinkles in a voice that could cut glass. Jarod sighed, and popped the lid on the cocoa, licking the whipped cream off the top while he waited for her to return.

This was not going like he'd simmed it. She wasn't supposed to be angry with him, she wasn't supposed to be this pushy, and she wasn't supposed to want to ignore his concerns. Jarod watched her head for the Ladies' Room, probably to calm down, and tried to think of a better approach.

Ten minutes later she returned; he wondered how high she'd had to count to get her temper under control, but it seemed to have worked. She picked up her new order at the counter before joining him, still glaring, but less irate. "And I have never, ever backed down on a case. Everyone knows that about me, too. Any evidence you have of misconduct or concealment should be taken to Mancini's defense attorney, as well as the D.A.'s office. Why involve me?"

Might as well go for broke. "I have a plan to catch D.A. Hendricks in the act. But it requires your cooperation…."

Miraculously, Gates actually listened as he outlined the Pretend, her anger abating as she became interested in the sting. She smiled as he pointed out the advantages to his plan, wedding band tapping against her cup as she thought. The smile took years off her expression, and Jarod found himself foolishly smiling back, hopeful again. "Well?"

Another sip of espresso, then, judiciously, "I like it. The judge may throw out the case and declare a mistrial, but at the least we'll get another investigation, and Mancini will get a fairer hearing. This whole set-up has been fishy from day one." She nodded sharply. "I'll do it if you tell me your real connection to the Mancinis. They haven't hired you, and the public defender's office has no idea who you are, even if you are in good standing with New York State."

"How—you made a phone call when you left." He should have expected that. Good thing his license was in order. "I never said I was working for the public defender's office."

"Don't try to quibble over legalities with a prosecutor, Spenser. You implied it, and hoped I'd assume you were working for the defense." Gates frowned again, and said, "Spenser. Like the Robert Parker detective?"

"It's a coincidence."

"Mmmm. So? Your connection?"

"Just call me a friend of the family. Someone who wants to see justice done." He should have expected the suspicion - any good lawyer would be wary - but maybe he'd gotten over-confident, with too many successful Pretends under his belt over the recent months. Maybe he should have realized that in order to survive and thrive away from her father, she'd had to look for more than the average person, notice more. That she'd gotten the drop on him was enough indication of her abilities.

Gates tilted her head, fingers drumming on her cup again, a remnant of the smoking she'd given up over a year ago. Not that she would be happy he knew about that, either. "I can't figure you, Spenser. That Boy Scout motivation you just gave me—that's the most truthful thing you've said since we met."

Jarod nearly choked on his coffee. "What?"

"I know liars, Jarod." She leaned in, and Jarod swallowed, fingers tightening on his cup, fighting the urge to flee. Or lean in closer than before, as her voice lowered to a purr. "You're a liar." She flashed him that wicked smile again. "But, you're a liar who's on the right side. Truth and justice for all. So I'm going to let that slide." A long dark fingernail snapped up in line with his eye. "Don't make me regret it."

"No, ma'am."

Another suspicious look. "You get more polite when you lie, you know." She finished her drink and headed for the door. "See you in court, Marlowe."

"Spenser."

"Whatever."

After she left, Jarod let out a long, slow breath. Informing her that he'd been investigating her husband's death as well as Corelli's interest in her seemed a lot more dangerous than it had an hour ago, for some reason. He caught himself tracing the lipstick print she'd left on the coffee cup she'd left behind, and blinked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, maybe Miss Parker left the Center much earlier, met a guy named Thomas Gates just like in the canon series, went the _Law & Order_ route of becoming a prosecutor, and then lost him to murder. 
> 
> _Tommy Girl_ is both a perfume and who she might be in that case.
> 
> Also, Jarod couldn't resist the alias and the pun, and the connection to the name Parker. He is so going to get caught by that one of these days.


	3. Stockholm is for Suckers

"Let. Me. Out!"

"Not until after your father calls back." Jarod didn't look away from the bank of computer and television screens in front of him. Nothing on CNN. Nothing on MSN. And nothing on FOX news. Good. The Centre was keeping their side of the bargain. So far. "And delivers the ransom."

"I'm killing you after that!"

"Which isn't motivation to let you out of there," he told the bathroom door.

"This is against the Geneva Convention! I want cigarettes!"

"Don't talk to me about the Geneva Convention. The Centre hasn't abided by any standard of international human rights law for over thirty years. And you're not getting any cigarettes. You smell better without them." Jarod paused, then hastily added, "Not that I noticed what you smelled like."

Stunned silence from the other side of the door. "What?" Another in a long series of kicks and bangs aimed at the luxurious bathroom suite cabinets and fixtures. "Has anyone told you how weird you are?"

"Constantly, since I got out of the Centre. One more thing to thank you people for."

"Spare. Me. I didn't kidnap you! I didn't do anything to you! I'm a year younger than you are and I'm not responsible for your life!"

"Well, you'd know better than I would, since you actually have a copy of your birth certificate. Forgive me if I just want a copy of mine."

"How the hell long are you planning on keeping me?" Miss Parker's voice moved closer to the door. "Or did you just bring a suitcase full of my clothes and toiletries for the fun of it?"

"I wanted you to be comfortable." Jarod frowned at the bathroom door. "Just because I'm holding you hostage is no reason to be inhumane."

"If you weren't being inhumane, you would give me my cigarettes."

"Why would I do that? After forty-eight hours, the carbon monoxide in your bloodstream will have already cleared. In two weeks—"

"Two weeks!"

"—the nicotine cravings should be entirely gone. Giving you cigarettes when your addiction is on the way to being broken already would be much crueler in the long term than satisfying your temporary desire for a drug that's damaging your health."

"I'll damage your health, if you don't let me out of here! I'm going to strangle you the first chance I get!"

"You're very tall, but I'm taller. You'll never get the proper leverage."

"Aaaaah!" And more kicks.

Jarod returned to scanning the internet for any sign of Centre activity, and monitoring the various camera feeds he'd planted around his hideout. It was highly unlikely that they'd figure out where he'd chosen to hide himself and his prisoner, but there was no reason to get cocky and miss an external threat. He sent a wary glance at the bathroom door again. The handcuffs and the bolted-down fixtures should have kept Miss Parker from becoming an internal threat.

Although now she was being far too quiet. There were sounds of her moving around, but the temper tantrum seemed to have abated. Jarod checked his watch. The drug he'd used on her had worn off an hour ago; she should be getting hungry. And better to get the first confrontation over with than have to go through the risk of an attack every time he opened the door.

"I'm going to bring in your lunch. I have a gun," he warned her. Never mind that he wasn't going to use it; she was Centre-trained, and would back off, looking for an opening when she wasn't directly threatened. "Let me hear you move away from the door."

Footsteps moving away, then a harsh, "Fine."

Jarod unlocked the door, turned the knob, then kicked it open, intending to catch her in the face if she was too close, or simply intimidate her into backing up if she was further away.

Instead, Miss Parker's mesh suitcase came sailing at him, knocking the tray out of his hands and the gun to the ground. "What the—"

She barreled into him, knocking him into the door frame as she swung the small toiletries case at his head, striking a glancing blow to his temple, then kicking the gun out into the hallway. He fell back, briefly stunned, then stuck out a leg to trip her as she rushed past him. She slammed to the ground, already turning over to aim a painful kick to his groin that barely missed connecting with somewhere very sensitive, and then crawled after the gun, whirling to aim it at him from her knees, a snarl forming across her face.

Winded, Jarod stared at her, and folded his arms across his chest as he leaned against the sink. "You shoot me, and—"

Miss Parker pulled the trigger. Twice. And then glared at the Sig as it failed to fire, before getting to her feet to run for the doors.

"You'll find I didn't load the gun. Listen to me!"

"Go to hell!" she called over her shoulder. He could hear her rattling the doors, trying to get out, and he carefully stepped over the tray and spilled food to follow her as she rushed through the apartment.

"I've locked the doors with coded electronic locks. The windows are likewise locked, and we're on the fifteenth floor." Jarod followed her out to the main atrium, watching her stalk from one section of the connected series of rooms in the apartment suite to the other. Something else occurred to him. "How did you get out of the handcuffs?"

Miss Parker stormed back through the sunken living room, glaring at him with the force of an acetylene torch. "Dislocated my thumb." She picked up a lamp two-handed and threw it at him, and he ducked away as it crashed into the wall next to him.

"Impressive," he called from the kitchen. "Look, I'm not going to hurt you—"

"Let me out of here!" She came in brandishing a chair from the dining room, raising it over her head to try and hit him with it. He managed to catch it by the legs, and wrench it out of her grasp, keeping it in front of him like a lion tamer, holding her off as she snarled. "You can't keep me here indefinitely!"

"No! I want my birth certificate, and my family! And your father is one of the only people who knows where they are!" Thank God he hadn't brought any knives or sharp objects with him. She was deadly enough with blunt instruments. "You're staying here until he gets me the information I want!"

"He'll never give you what you want! Parkers don't make deals with kidnappers or terrorists!" Miss Parker shoved at the chair, and then cursed, holding her left hand. "God damnit."

"How's your thumb?"

"Screw you!"

"Not under these circumstances I'm not."

"I beg your pardon?"

Yeah, he was definitely going to have to watch every word around her. "Look." He lowered his voice, calling on every bit of experience with hostage negotiation and crisis training he had. He'd expected some resistance, but this was going farther than he'd anticipated. "You're hurt, you're being held prisoner, you've got to be hungry by now—"

"And all of that's your fault!" Another strike at him as she tried to get around the chair, and he backed up a step.

"Can we call a truce for fifteen minutes? Just fifteen. Enough time to set your thumb, get you fed, and then I can put you back in the bathroom where you won't have to look at me."

She sneered at him, but took a step backward. "A conscientious kidnapper? Are you for real? Why the hell should I do anything to make this easier on you?" Jarod didn't say anything, just kept the chair up, watching her, waiting for her own pain and frustration to do the work for him. With another growl, she stomped over to the dining room and sat down on one of the other chairs, cradling her hand. "Fine. Fine, you asshole. But the second that fifteen minutes are up, it's on again."

Jarod rolled his eyes, and put the chair down, then retrieved the first aid kit from the living room, taking it over to the table and staying just out of her reach. He kept his voice mild as he rummaged for a small metal splint and bandages. "Throwing your suitcase at me wasn't the smartest thing you could have done, Miss Parker. I'm just going to take it away, and leave the clothes with you. But I know you're working with limited resources. Although in your position, I would've used the lid to the toilet tank."

She gave him a venomous look, holding out her hand, watching him. He didn't for a second think the truce would last if she saw an opening. Strange to respect her more for that, rather than less. "I couldn't lift it with my thumb dislocated."

"Ah."

She clearly didn't like his tone. "Shut. Up."

He decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and carefully turned over her hand. "It's swelling. This is going to hurt almost as much as dislocating it did."

She set her jaw, keeping her eyes on him instead of on her thumb, and only gave a small grunt as he manipulated the joint back into its socket. Didn't say a word as he wrapped it, just stared at his face. Her fury seemed to be dying down, and her voice was almost mild as she said, "You're very good at that."

"Thank you."

Miss Parker studied the bandage, and turned her hand in his fingers, fingertips brushing over his palm, then grudgingly asked, "Aspirin?"

"I've got Tylenol." A single poisonous glance and a curt nod. Less unnerving than her touch was. He was going to have to watch that, too. He fetched a plastic tumbler of water, and handed over two Tylenol, watching her drink before taking the cup back. "I wouldn't expect you to eat the food now on the floor of the bathroom. But you're only getting a single second serving. Do that again, and you'll go without food."

"My name is not Kate, and you are not Petruchio." Miss Parker's tone was cold. "And you have only five more minutes of this truce."

"Who?" Jarod asked as he backed away, retrieved an apple and a can of soda from the fridge, handing them over to her before re-fastening the handcuffs.

Her hiss of anger was accompanied by another kick, but hunger won out over fighting him as she bit into the fruit. She continued to glare at him for the next several minutes as she ate her apple, before finally saying, "Look it up. What, Sydney didn't train you in the classics?"

"Some of them. I must have missed that one. Like so much else."

"Cry me a river, Don Quixote."

"Now, Cervantes, I rather enjoyed. Inspirational," he said, reaching over to pull her to her feet by a grip on the cuffs. "When tilting at windmills, and giants, it's best to avoid a frontal attack."

"My favorite kind," Miss Parker purred, then jerked her head forward, trying to slam her forehead into his nose. She was off-balance enough to only hit his chin, and Jarod cursed, biting his tongue and tasting blood. She shoved at his chest, and he managed to regain his grip and pull her arms up and over her head, dodging more kicks, and then pulled her up high enough that she had to stand on her tiptoes, almost dangling from his grasp.

"Enough!" he yelled into her face. "You can't fight me every minute you're here!"

"Watch me." Almost spitting defiance at him, still twisting and turning and trying to get away. He'd thought she'd be a much more typical Centre employee, her father's perfect 'angel', as Mr. Parker often referred to her. The reality wasn't even close. He had to wonder how she would have done as a kidnapped four-year-old. Would she have protested longer? Or would she have given in as he had, and started to sympathize with Sydney, and wanted to comply? Somehow, he couldn't picture it.

Okay. That was a completely counter-productive train of thought, and not one that he was comfortable contemplating. Time to end this confrontation, now. Jarod grabbed the soda, and hauled her forward and off-balance by her hands, kicking and wriggling through half the apartment back toward the bathroom.

Halfway there, Miss Parker sat down on the marble floor and refused to move. "I am not going back in there! You are not going to get me to cooperate with you for one more minute!"

"Fine, if that's what you want."

A fireman's carry was much, much more difficult if your 'rescuee' was fighting you, he found out. But he still managed to haul her back to the bathroom and dump her into the sunken tub before throwing the can of soda in with her. She was still struggling to get out when he shut the door.

"I hate you!"

Wiping the blood off his lip, he muttered, "Surprise, surprise." He raised his voice. "If you don't attack me again, I might get you a nicotine patch."

"Ahhhhh!"

He crossed to the computer, and punched Kate and Petruchio into a search engine. Then sat there laughing helplessly for ten minutes, already exhausted, as Miss Parker demanded to know what was so funny through the bathroom door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Virginia may be for lovers, but Stockholm Syndrome is only for those who trust their captors more than the police or other authorities (sometimes for rational reasons).


	4. Prisoner's Dilemma, Extended Dance Remix

"Drop the gun, Mira. You don't have to do this."

She didn't drop it, just tightened her grip, keeping it aimed at his face. "Yes, I do."

Jarod's expression cleared into one of realization. "You were going to leave me here for them to find all along. From the first minute we started planning our escape, the first time we communicated through the walls." His voice was shaky, instead of the anger she'd expected. Pain. God, she'd hurt him. She hadn't realized how badly this would wound him, and now it was hitting her, feedback from his emotions intensifying her own regret. It was never easy to stop simming someone, but this was a whole new level of horrible. "How can you turn me over to them?"

"I'm not." Her palms were sweating. Fear was making the night sounds, the moonlight, the scent of dogwoods, all of it, more vivid. Jagged on her nerves, and she'd revel in the newness of the world if she weren't so close to being sick. "I wouldn't do that to you. But I can't let them find me, Jarod. I can not go back there." She swallowed. "If they catch you, you'll tell them where you think I was headed. How we broke out. How we planned it. Everything."

"I'd never give them that, you know—"

"Not willingly," Mira interrupted him. "Not at first. I know that. I believe you." She did know him, from lonely nights spent tapping out signals, and nightmares spelled out in clicks on the wall. Rare e-mails disguised as spam poetry, and a voice in a vent, once. They were the same. Neither of them was that brutal a monster.

"Then why?"

How could he not know? Why didn't he have a knife ready for her, a gun hidden at their tunnel exit point like she'd hidden one, a rope, poison? Or had he been planning to strangle her with his bare hands? In the dappled shadows under the trees outside the Centre, she could see him watching her in disbelief, not even tensing to attack. Not reaching for her, or looking for a weapon. She'd been ready; why hadn't he?

"We're each a liability to each other. Don't you see that? The instant one of us is caught, it'll only be a matter of days before the other one is tracked down, after the first breaks and talks. They might even force one of us to sim where the other went. I am not going to be dragged back to a hyperbaric chamber and needles in my arms and another round of their tests and wondering when Lyle is going to break the code on my door. I'm not." Her voice was rising, and she'd taken another step away from him, even as she'd adjusted the sights of the gun onto his heart. Her voice dropped. "But I won't let them do that to you, either."

"You're putting me out of my misery?" Jarod's voice was quiet now, gentle, and she didn't deserve forgiveness for this, but of all people, he would understand. Had no choice but to understand, even though it wasn't fair to either of them. Just like everything else.

"I'm not leaving you behind. I promised you months ago, when we first planned how we could break out, that I wouldn't do that to you." Her voice was cracking. Damnit. "You don't deserve that. You'll be free, Jarod."

"If you really believe that… then do it, Mira. Kill me. Here and now."

Both hands on the gun. She'd simmed this a hundred times. Killers, soldiers, executioners, spies. Steadied her stance.

Froze.

Her fingers wouldn't move on the trigger. She just kept staring at his face, dark eyes watching her, not resigned, angry now, daring her, and she was trying to do it. Trying. Trying. Waiting to hear dogs baying, and sirens, and gunfire; and the pursuit that had to come for them eventually, something that would force her to go through with it, and it was just her and Jarod and the crickets and the wind….

And the next thing she knew, he had the gun in his hand, pointed at her head, hand steadier than hers had been. She closed her eyes, waiting for the bullet, then forced them open with her last reserves of courage. Jarod's face was blank now. Expressionless.

Mira hated herself, and wondered if Raines had been right; if all her genius and perception came down to being too fragile to withstand reality, too emotional, just like he'd always said. Felt fury that Jarod had won just by being stronger, and picking his moment for when she was weakest. Served her right for hesitating, grieving for someone she'd only talked to in person for three minutes.

Then he cocked the safety on the gun, and pointed it at the ground, smirking. "You won't get away from me that easily."

She stared at him, completely baffled, as Jarod put the gun in the bag she'd prepared for the escape. "What?"

"Come on, Mira. It's just getting interesting." He took a step toward her, and Jarod's tone became wheedling, teasing. "Don't tell me you're going to give up at the first challenge, or this game won't be any fun at all."

"It's not a game, you moron." She wanted to hit him, or scream, but the best she could do was stand there, disoriented and lost. Why hadn't he shot her? "Winner takes all. Life, liberty, happiness. Whoever can elude the Centre the longest wins."

"I think the game will last longer if we play on the same team." He was invading her personal space, not touching her, but close enough that he was shielding her from the wind, close enough to hear the warmth in his voice. "Do you really want to be out here alone?"

"That's what we planned! To split up, and make it harder for them to track us. Keep them confused, lay false trails…." Except in a flash, she realized that had never been Jarod's plan, any more than leaving him behind to be recaptured by the Centre had been hers. "You lied."

Jarod's voice was as dry as clean room atmosphere. "So did you. You don't see me holding a grudge, do you?"

Which led to only one rather startling conclusion: "You're _insane."_

"And you're far more ruthless than I thought. Even if your conscience did win out this time." He tilted his head, watching her, studying her the way she studied construction plans, electrical designs, codes for computer security systems. It should have been more unnerving. "Which is going to make this even more fun than I expected."

Her lips twitched. Only a Pretender would understand what a blatant compliment that was.

Jarod grinned, and gestured toward the path. "Shall we?"

This was such a bad idea. "It'll never work. If we get caught—"

"I promise to shoot you first." Jarod's voice was light, but she could hear the promise underneath it, the same one she'd tapped out to him in their cells: _I won't leave you behind._

She snorted, and cut ahead of him on the trail out to the highway. "Save the flirting for later, Jarod."

"We're flirting?" Surprise, and almost childish delight.

She rolled her eyes, and caught herself smirking. "Maybe."

"Maybe? How can you tell?" She kept silent, trying not to laugh. "Mira…."

She didn't say anything more for the entire three-mile walk to the main road, no matter how hard he tried to get her to talk. Which if he'd thought about it for two minutes, or known anything significant about women, would have been answer enough.

She decided not to let him in on that. Not yet, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And what if the Center wanted two Pretenders? To compare their work? And what if those two made that work for them instead? Miss Parker becomes Mira, under Raines' control. And many other things change as a result.
> 
> Prisoner's Dilemma is the Game Theory based on the idea of self-interest conquering all-- but that's only at the first stage. If two prisoners escape together, future bonus rounds can become even more interesting.


	5. White Leopard Habitat

Mia spotted Jarod sitting at a table near the water, and pulled her sunglasses down onto her face before striding across the Café Miami to join him. She leaned down and gave him a light peck on the cheek before dropping her shopping bags at his feet. "So, what did you order for me?"

Jarod startled at her touch, then froze for several moments as she settled into the chair across from him and picked up a menu, before he finally said, "Hold that thought." He reached for the cell phone inside his jacket. "You can have anything you want as long as you stay right there, Mia. We'll take a banquet back with us, if that's what you're in the mood for."

"Anything?" She mock-frowned at him over the menu, then grinned at the annoyed look he gave his busy-signal-buzzing cell phone. "Sorry, Jarod. May I call you Jarod? I already know almost everything about you; and calling you 'Mr. Parker' seems too formal under these circumstances. But you won't be able to get through to your Sweeper team."

"Do I want to know why not?" Interesting. He wasn't yelling yet. All of her information about him had indicated he didn't resemble his father in that regard. Unlike Lyle, who looked and sounded like an updated Jimmy Stewart even while burying women out in the woods, but could rage just like his good ol' boy daddy. She hadn't counted on Jarod having manners, much less the calm to match the Cary Grant packaging.

Hmmm. If she took the metaphor to its conclusion, that made Sydney a new version of Sydney Greenstreet, pulling strings behind the scenes. But who did that make her? She'd have to ask Sydney more about old movies, the next time she called. Dismissing her latest obsession from her mind, Mia returned to tormenting her current target.

"Your Sweepers are a little busy trying to keep your baby brother from being arrested for three homicides. Ah, mimosas. A must-have." Mia crooked a finger at a nearby waiter, and watched Jarod go very still out of the corner of her eye. "Two mimosas, two waffles with strawberries, lots of butter and whipped cream, and could you be a sweetheart and get my husband some more coffee?"

"Of course, Mrs. Parker."

That finally got to him, as even the mention of Lyle hadn't. Give him credit, though; aside from one strangled sound of protest, and his fingers tightening on his coffee cup, nobody else would pick up on his surprise. It appeared that Jarod Parker was all about control. Time to take that away from him.

He waited until the waiter had smiled, bowed and gone away before saying, "Husband?"

"What, you're not going to ask about the arrest?" Mia propped her chin on her left hand, drawing attention to the new diamond ring there. His eyes tracked it for a second, then flicked back to meet her eyes, giving away almost nothing. Irritation, maybe, and curiosity, but that was it. Points for that. She tapped the ring against her cheek. "I'll grant you, we didn't pick this out together, but you still paid for it. As well as my latest little spree. You should let someone else assign your PIN numbers; they're incredibly easy to access." She reached over and pulled a sheer satin nightgown out of one bag. "Do you think it's my color?"

A muscle jumped in his jaw before he said, very dryly, "I'm not going to give you an opinion unless you model it for me."

"There's a thought." One a little too pleasant to dwell on at the moment. She dropped the gown back in the bag. "So you knew about the girls."

A flicker of an eyelid, that tension along his jaw again, and then Jarod very carefully said, "I'm sure something can be worked out with the police."

"I'm sure it could be too. If they hadn't actually found the girls' bodies. With Lyle's fingerprints on the sheeting they were wrapped in." Mia heard her voice go colder, lower, braced herself for the explosion, threats, demands. "Your father can't cover this up the way he covered up Che Ling's death."

Jarod looked away, out over the water, and said nothing for an entire minute. But his shoulders relaxed. And was that a sigh of relief?

"The evidence will hold up in court?" Phrased like a question, without actually being a question. "You would have made sure of that." And then he shocked the hell out of her. "Thank you."

Mia pushed her sunglasses up to glare at him, but had to wait until after the solicitous waiter had poured their mimosas and then left again before she burst out with, "What the hell is this? You're supposed to offer me the Earth and anything else I want in order to clear him!"

"He's guilty. He's been my rival at the Centre for far too long." He smirked at her, and took a sip of his coffee. "And I never liked him, even before I found out he was my brother. I have plenty of reasons to be glad he's gone." Jarod put his coffee down and said, "In fact, I'm not even going to try to take you in today, if he's actually been arrested. Consider it a late wedding present."

"Peachy." So much for that plan. Family loyalty should have held steady no matter what. This was very, very annoying, as well as a sign that she needed much better information on Jarod Parker. "Your daddy isn't going to be pleased with you when he finds out about this, Jarod. He'll want to know why you didn't negotiate with me."

"My father's wishes aren't the sole motivation for my actions, Mia." Jarod was studying her as closely as she'd studied him. She took a sip of her mimosa to cover her discomfort. He kept his voice low, persuasive; she had to wonder how much his own latent Pretender abilities were coming into play here. "Come back with me to Blue Cove. You can be safe. I can protect you. Lyle's gone now, and I can block any plans Raines has."

"Why would that be anything I'd want, when I can have this?" Mia gestured with her goblet, taking in the blue, blue ocean, the sand, the palm trees, the people around them. Variety and sensation and life. "Thirty years of deadly simulations, no family, cotton pajamas, tasteless food, being told what to do, where to go, who to talk to—"

Jarod interrupted her, intense and sincere again. "We can change that, make you a full employee, find you better accommodations—"

Which had her cackling like a crazy woman for several minutes, then smiling even more widely as the waiter returned with their food. Jarod watched her, waiting for her to get control of herself with a bemused smile on his face. As soon as the waiter was gone, she said, "I took a bath in your suite before I came here. Just to see what Centre executives rated while on assignment. Are you ready to give up your house in Delaware to me, if that's what I want?"

Jarod blinked, opened his mouth, then swallowed. Stunned was a cute look on him, but he recovered fast. "Possibly."

Mia almost choked on a bite of strawberry. "Good one. But it's still not enough. It's my life. I'm not giving it away to anyone for any reason ever again."

"You know what the Centre's resources are. And if you keep setting up Pretends like the one you sprang on Lyle, you're going to get hurt." She could almost believe he meant it, that he was worried about her. "You can't protect yourself out here. You're alone, you're vulnerable, and you don't have any experience with the real world."

"You think so?" Mia raised an eyebrow at him as she cut up her food. There probably wasn't going to be time for most of it, but why let it all go to waste? "Funny thing I've learned since I've been free. People like to help others. If I look helpless, or flash my legs, it's extremely easy to convince someone that, say, I'm being stalked by my ex-boyfriend. And get them to lie to anyone who comes looking for me." She tilted her head. "My world is full of accomplices, Jarod. Especially in a good cause."

Jarod sighed, rubbing one temple with his fingertips, then gave her a troubled look. "Mia, please. Don't make me hunt you down."

"Better you than Lyle. Oh, wait, that's not a danger now, is it?" She gave Jarod a slow smile, and patted her lips with her napkin before standing up and retrieving her bags. "Which is what happens when someone really pisses me off. So don't say you weren't warned."

"Mia—"

Whatever new argument he was going to try, he was wasting his breath. She bent down and placed a fast, warm kiss on his mouth, then pulled back before Jarod could decide whether to return the kiss or push her away. His expression when she stopped was priceless. "Bye, honey. I'll see you back in our room," she said, loud enough to be overheard by their waiter and a couple of the other diners. She gave him a wink, pulling down her sunglasses as she murmured, "Tell Sydney I said hi, won't you?"

She could feel him watching her leave as she strode toward the exit, swinging the shopping bags from one hand, and humming _Get Me to the Church On Time_ under her breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to a world where Miss Parker was raised as the Pretender, and Jarod was adopted as Mr. Parker's son.
> 
> The white leopard (according to Sydney in the pilot episode) can't survive outside its home because it can't blend in. Mia has already found out that the white leopard's habitat is the world (just like Jarod did).


	6. Unique Snowflakes

The first e-mail came through Centre channels. It was attached to data he'd needed for the latest simulation, with an anonymous file name and password protection keyed only to him. Not from Angelo; atypical. An anomaly. Supposedly impossible. One line:

_There's life outside the Centre. Do you want it?_

Jarod shivered, deleted the attachment, and waited, heart pounding. A test? A threat? He should report it to Sydney immediately. Check with IT, find the source, let whoever sent it become Security's problem. Possibilities for a new level of psychological conditioning went through his head; a program that would allow the Centre to sever his certainties even within their secure walls. Force him to cling to his captors as the only surety, even as he hated them. Hold out the hope for escape, help from within, and then snatch it back. Clever. Heavy-handed, but not without merit.

Optimal time for beginning the next level of such a program: two days. There would be demands for information regarding why he hadn't reported the attachment, then a round of deprivations—less computer time, less privacy. Then there would be accusations that he was plotting with personnel within the Centre. Jarod ran through all the permutations, and prepared himself for interrogation. He wasn't going to give the appearance of compliance any longer. Let the Tower understand that he worked for them only because he was forced to. He would never agree to be their willing slave again, even inside his prison.

At the end of three days, there had been no action.

He ran a trace through the system, using back doors he'd set up years before, holes in the mainframe that only he and Angelo knew about. The e-mail had gone through five departments before reaching him, and the attachment could have been added anywhere. Scanning security footage would attract too much attention if done directly, but would lead him to—

Another download, another attachment, this one opening on its own when he clicked on the file.

_Don't look for answers. You haven't addressed the question._

_Do you want out?_

Shocks to the system manifested in elevated breathing, a drop in temperature, dizziness, tension—it had been so long since he'd been surprised. Much less shocked. Amazing to experience the effect of actual change, for once.

Stupid to believe. Stupid to hope. But he wasn't stupid, had never been stupid, his whole life was what it was because he was a genius, and whoever was doing this was taking incredible risks. There was no reason for a charade to be continued; nothing to be gained for the Centre by luring him in deeper before springing the trap. The instigator here was being very cautious, enough not to get caught at this level of interaction, but… who? Why? He needed more data. He couldn't sim their motivations, the outcome, without more data.

_Yes._

A single word response.

_Wait._

He deleted all traces of this attachment as well, pulse accelerating, as Sydney came back from checking on the participants in another twin experiment.

"Do you have the latest estimates for the flooding simulation, Jarod?" Sydney's mild gaze cataloged his well-being and emotional state, as usual. The prize exhibit in the Centre zoo.

"They're on your computer. We should talk about the evacuation procedures when you have a moment."

"Go ahead, I have to wait for further developments from Dr. Corvici…."

Not a trace of excitement, not a hint that it was Sydney. And somehow, he'd retained the control to fool Sydney's usually keen eye.

If it was a set-up, and a more sophisticated one than usual, he couldn't discern the advantage in drawing it out. But who within the Centre hierarchy would have both the intelligence and the caution to approach him like this? Much less the motivation? Was the Tower jockeying for position again? Was someone hoping to discredit Sydney by inciting Jarod to escape? Another psychotic with an agenda… Raines, maybe. Lyle. He'd been hearing things about Lyle.

Another two days. Possibilities considered, eliminated, narrowed, isolated. But still not enough information, not for certainty.

Saturday. When the Centre was quieter, fewer techs in the halls, less activity on the monitors he sometimes watched just to feel less alone. Free time, at least in theory. It could be interrupted at any moment, but Jarod took advantage of the break to visit the private weight room that only he and the other Pretenders had access to, with a bored Sweeper stationed outside the door.

Under one of the weights was a note.

_Sam will take over as your escort when you leave the room. Go with him._

Not one of his regular guards. And now he had a very good idea of who was behind this. But not why.

Sam, blank-faced and cold, was waiting outside the door when he got done with his shower. He followed him without comment, but paused as Sam hit the elevator button for the uppermost level, then stepped out before the doors closed. If Jarod could have put a name to the expression on the Sweeper's face before the door closed, it might have been—threat? Uncertainty? Apprehension?

He wondered who had cut the security feeds to the elevator; who had been suborned to cover his absence from his room—and then the elevator doors were opening onto the roof to the dark Delaware night, and he took his first breath of unregulated air since he was eleven.

It was snowing again.

Jarod exited the elevator and held out one hand to the drifting flakes, enchanted. Cold as he remembered, but even more beautiful. God, how could they deny him something so simple? So delightful?

The floodlights were off, and the stars and moonlight were the only illumination. For several minutes, he stood there, letting the flakes melt on his hands, on his face, his tongue, felt the cold seep in past his Centre-standard clothes, real and inescapable.

When he couldn't put it off any longer, he said, "Aren't you going to join me?" After a beat: "Miss Parker."

He heard the hiss of a lighter being ignited, and then there was the glow of a cigarette in the shadows. She paced out of them, deliberate and slow, and stopped a few feet away, watching him. In the darkness, he could barely make out details; she was a long silhouette, sharp heels, a cloud of hair melting into rising smoke, an arc of light where her hand held the lit ember.

"What gave it away?" She sounded amused, her voice lower than he'd anticipated, a husky alto. He'd seen photos of her, read files, but there had been no live video footage; he could picture the details and fill them in now, but there were still things he didn't know about this woman.

"Sam was the final proof. Although you were the main suspect in creating this little exercise in confusion. He's been your lead Sweeper for three years now, since you stepped down as Head of Security." Jarod kept his voice even, watching her every move. She had a black belt in judo. Was probably carrying a gun. Had shot more than one person who'd gotten in her way. No kills yet, but there was always a first time. "Real-time monitoring of my station is only available to a very few. Your answers came too quickly to be going through the normal channels."

A drag on the cigarette. "Maybe you are the genius they claim you are."

"What do you want with me?" Jarod stayed still, waiting. Part of him was savoring the illusion of freedom, however temporary or limited. "Your inquiries are counter to Centre policy."

"Screw Centre policy." She stalked around him in a small circle, head down, avoiding his gaze. "I hoped to discuss the possibility of ... an alliance, I suppose."

"Alliance." And there was the wild feeling of surprise again, of horizons opening up without warning. He kept his voice mild, and only slightly bitter, disguising hope. "That only happens between equals. I'm a prisoner."

"You don't have to be."

They stared at each other for a long moment, before Jarod whispered, "At what price?"

"You can find things I can't, once you're out of here." As if it was an already accomplished fact. "Tap the mainframe for files that can't be traced to me. Cause chaos in quarters I can't reach. In other words: do exactly what you want to do anyway." Miss Parker sounded dismissive, calm, as if she weren't proposing a course of action that could get both of them killed. "Is that too much to ask?"

He stepped closer to her, close enough to make out her expression at less than arm's length away. Blank as a porcelain doll, leaning back on her spine as if bored. An executive humoring an employee, one with better things to do.

The fingers clutching her cigarette were clenched tight, hard enough to break the nails on her manicure.

"Why should I risk my safety and my continued good health for a life on the run?" Jarod asked, keeping his voice sardonic. "Freedom to die horribly in Raines' hands holds little appeal."

"You want this." That velvety voice sharpened to a snarl when thwarted, he noted. Something to remember, later. "You've been stuck here for thirty years, living other people's lives in pretend-games. You'd kill to be out there, seeing reality instead of four walls. Don't try to tell me you wouldn't."

"I'm not a killer. The life I save could be my own." He smiled, hoped she could see it in the moonlight. "You're not doing this from the kindness of your heart, Miss Parker. If you have one, I doubt the plight of one lone captive can reach it." A snort out in the darkness, and he folded his arms. "For the escape of a Pretender, and random confusion as I elude the authorities, there's an additional price." He smiled, hearing a toe tap with impatience, watching her chin tilt up. "The truth."

"Truth?"

"Two kinds." And don't give away that you're bargaining for something more important than your life, your freedom, your sanity.… "I want to know what happened to my parents. And I want to know why you're doing this."

She looked away, and after a long moment, dropped her cigarette, grinding it under her heel, still avoiding his eyes. "I don't know what happened to your parents. I don't know anything about them." A long sigh, and for the first time her shoulders slumped. "And I want to know what happened to mine."

"Your parents?" Jarod frowned, intrigued and wary. "Your family's history is an open book." One which he was unwilling to get into. He'd seen the results of her losses of temper.

"Written by someone with all the credibility of the _Weekly World News_."

"The what?"

"Forget it." Muttering under her breath, Miss Parker pushed one hand through her hair, then closed her eyes. For a second, Jarod just appreciated the geometry of her face, stark and as cold as an ice sculpture. "My mother was murdered," she said, eyes open now, staring into the shadows. She could have been talking to the stars, the snow. He could have been one of the flood lamps, for all the attention she was giving him. He wasn't sure why he resented that. The tight emotion in her voice was a mix of fury and pain, and his own hand curled into a fist, resisting the urge to reach out to her. "She was murdered and they called it a suicide and I want to know why, and how, and most especially, who."

That her mother was murdered was believable; but the unlooked-for opportunity to take advantage of it was almost too providential to be believed. Mild guilt tried to swamp more rising excitement. "And you think I can help."

"Can't you?"

It wasn't impossible. It would be a distraction from his own efforts if he were going to find his family. But… if Miss Parker was right, the facts behind her mother's death might be a weapon against the Centre. Something which could oust those in power, if the two of them were extremely fortunate.

"And you'll help me find my family? You'll have access to records I won't. Be able to tap the mainframe for files I can't. Be able to cause chaos in places I can't reach," he said, quoting her words back at her. "The Centre has to have some record of where they were, who they were." Jarod stared at her, collating and correlating and trying to sim her, predict her next move, her next request, and for once, the tightrope he always walked was stretched over a chasm whose depths he couldn't see.

A long moment and then, softly, she said, "Agreed. Quid pro quo."

"Then I think you just bought yourself the services of a Pretender, Miss Parker."

A flash of white teeth in the darkness, and she held out her hand to him. "And you just bought yourself a get out of jail free card, Jarod."

He reached out to take her hand, noting the strength in the grip as well as the talons curving into his palm. "Get out of jail free card?"

"You'll find out later. Now, we have to discuss your escape."

"I have a few ideas on that subject."

"I'll bet you do."

Laughter again, and for once, it wasn't shutting him out. A joke he could share, a plan that could be accomplished with a partner. He tilted his head back to the falling snow, and stuck out his tongue, catching one, feeling it dissolve as soon as he touched it. Then said, quietly, "Thank you for this, Miss Parker. If nothing else. No matter what happens."

Silence, and then: "Happy New Year, Jarod."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This last AU is the one that can't be proven (or disproven). If we hadn't seen explicitly different in the series, the flashbacks of them meeting as kids, this last scenario? Totally possible. Because honestly, wouldn't it have made sense for Parker to help Jarod escape, if she'd had any clue that her mother was murdered? 
> 
> Of the other five AU's, three fit into canon with only minor changes, and two - those with Parker as a Pretender - require more monkeying with history. A blood test gone wrong here. Another switch at birth for a viable male child there. You wouldn't even have to change the biology. On any other show, this would push it beyond plausibility, but hey, everyone ended up related to each other by the end of this show. Completely possible.
> 
> Bonus points to those who can pick out the canon lines I cribbed and used way out of context.

**Author's Note:**

> First posted to Fanfiction.net and Livejournal in 2007.


End file.
